


Just

by 1863



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: M/M, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2019-02-01 03:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12696822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1863/pseuds/1863
Summary: He’s been thinking about this all goddamn day, Richard’s mouth and Thorin’s hands, Richard’s submission and Thorin’s defiance.





	Just

Lee grits his teeth and resolutely refuses to look up. Richard has been sneaking looks at him all goddamn day, ever since they’d filmed the interrogation scene in the throne room that morning. It was more than a little distracting, and Lee still has to get through this one last scene with Orlando.

Somehow, Lee doesn’t really think Peter will appreciate any sexual tension bleeding into what’s supposed to be an important moment between father and son.

Orlando eyeballs him during a break in filming. Lee silently wills him to keep his mouth shut but Orlando is Orlando and he can never resist an opportunity to sass someone. 

“Looking a little… frustrated, there,” he observes, terribly casual, idly playing with this bow. “I don’t suppose it has anything to do with a certain broody Dwarf, does it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lee mutters, ignoring the urge to lift his head. He knows Richard is watching him. Lee can feel his eyes like pins and needles on his skin and Thranduil’s clothing suddenly feels too tight, the material smothering and rough. 

“I’m sure you don’t,” Orlando says. There’s laughter in his voice, but he seems to take pity on Lee and doesn’t press any further.

Lee still tries to glare at him, but he’s so distracted by thoughts of Richard that he only manages to look vaguely irritated. He wonders what Richard is thinking right now—if indeed it is even entirely Richard that’s tracking his every movement like a hawk. Half the time Lee isn’t sure who he’s dealing with on set, and especially when they’re still in costume. 

When he’d darted forward to spit his lines about dragon fire that morning, Thorin had flinched and lowered his gaze before it flickered back up, staring briefly at Lee’s mouth. The movement and the look in his eyes were so similar to Richard’s when he was on cusp of submission that Thranduil had almost disappeared entirely, leaving Lee wanting nothing more than to grab Richard by the head and kiss him until he was reduced to moaning into Lee’s mouth.

Or maybe it wasn’t Lee who wanted that. Maybe it wasn’t Richard who wanted to submit.

Lee tugs at the collar of his costume in frustration. He’s never been like Richard, who sometimes took an age to cast off a character and come back to himself. It’s always been like flipping a switch for Lee, stepping in and out of character with ease ever since he’d been in high school. This weird dichotomy is new for him and it’s making him uncomfortable. 

And horny. 

Uncomfortably horny.

“All right, guys,” Peter says. “One last take and then we can call it a day.”

Lee would be relieved if he didn’t know that “one last take” was Peter-speak for “as many takes as I deem necessary even if it means more than a dozen”. He sighs and moves back to his mark, ignoring Orlando’s pointed smirk. He closes his eyes for a moment, getting back into Thranduil’s headspace, and when he opens them again he catches sight of Richard a short distance away.

Thorin, he corrects himself. Thorin. Always watching. Always hiding something. 

Always wanting something. 

He licks his lips and smiles when he sees Thorin swallow. 

“Action,” Peter calls, and Thranduil shifts his gaze to focus on his son. 

**

Lee is alone in the throne room, Orlando having scampered off as soon as Peter announced they were done, the rest of the crew packing up and leaving soon afterward. He’s mostly still in costume, just the outer jacket and wig taken off, plus the prosthetics and contacts. His crown was snatched away by an over-protective member of the props team too, so Lee is his usual sandy-haired self, head unadorned.

He doesn’t really know why he’s lingering on set but he can’t seem to shake Thranduil off completely today. The elven king is still there, under his skin, all coiled energy and royal pride and it’s making Lee jittery, nerves on edge, like an adrenaline rush that won’t end.

He looks at his throne, hesitating for a moment, then decides what the hell—he’s alone. Lee sits down, a hand on each armrest, back ramrod straight and legs crossed.

That’s how Richard finds him when he comes in a minute later, still dressed in Thorin’s prison garb. Though he, like Lee, is bare-faced and wig-free.

He freezes when he sees Lee on the huge carved throne, its branches twisting out and curving into the enormous elk antlers that are a symbol of Thranduil’s rule. Something passes over Richard’s face—an odd mixture of apprehension and frustration and lust—and Lee knows with a sudden certainty that this isn’t exactly Richard that’s staring at him, in much the same way that Lee isn’t exactly himself, either.

“Come to pay your respects?” he asks, and doesn’t know whose voice he’s using.

“To you?” Richard asks, mouth curving into a smile that’s just shy of contemptuous. “Hardly.”

“Then why are you here?”

Richard’s eyes darken. 

“Innocence doesn’t suit you,” he says shortly.

Lee smiles back. 

“I could say the same about you.” 

Lee looks Richard up and down, a slow caress of a stare that brings extra heat into Richard’s already intense expression.

“What are we to do,” Lee muses. “A king and a prince without a kingdom, all alone in a throne room.” 

He licks his lips and sees Richard’s jaw tighten. Some distant part of Lee is vaguely aware of practicalities, like the possibility of breaking bits of the set and getting weird stains on their costumes and wondering if Richard had locked the door. But most of his mind is preoccupied with trying to calculate just how far he can push this tantalising amalgamation of Richard and Thorin, and wondering which of them will assert themselves first.

Lee uncrosses his legs. The tight trousers of his costume do nothing to hide the fact that he’s already rock-hard.

Now it’s Richard who licks his lips, but the challenge in his eyes is all Thorin.

“It seems you already have a good idea of what to do,” he says, and Lee’s smile widens. He lifts a shoulder in an elegant shrug.

“I just gave you an option. It’s up to you to decide what to do with it.” He shifts his hips, just a little, and is rewarded with a flare of heat in Richard’s eyes.

“Is that what you want, king?” 

Richard stalks forward. His voice has dropped to a low murmur, a voice that he only ever uses when they’re alone—a bedroom voice, a voice for lovers—and he knows exactly what it does to Lee.

Lee feels a sharp combination of arousal and annoyance and levels Richard with a dark look.

“Would you deny that it’s what you want, too?”

Richard is at the throne now, standing at the foot of the steps. He lowers his head and looks at Lee from beneath his eyelashes.

“I deny nothing.”

They stare at each other. Richard’s pupils have dilated and his fingers twitch at his sides, and it takes a moment for Lee to understand why he’s waiting.

He wants an _order_.

Lee swallows. When he speaks next, his voice is very deep.

“On your knees.”

Richard smiles, slow and sharp, like he’s suddenly gotten the upper hand. Lee can’t really claim he’s wrong, not when he’s this painfully turned on, but he doesn’t really care because Richard obeys, stepping onto the dais and sinking to his knees.

“Touch me,” Lee says.

Richard undoes his trousers and peels away the front placket. He pauses for a moment, glancing up at Lee with something almost wicked in his eyes. He keeps their gazes locked as he lowers his head.

“My king,” he says, lips twisting into a mocking smile, and swallows Lee’s cock down.

“ _God_ ,” Lee moans, hips rolling up, unable to keep quiet when the soft wet heat of Richard’s mouth closes around him. His hands slide over Richard’s shorn head and Lee can’t stop himself from imagining that he’s tangling his fingers in Thorin’s mass of dark hair instead, the unruly locks trailing over his hands and tickling his tensed thighs.

Richard pulls away and digs his fingers into Lee’s hips, licking along the length of his cock and tonguing the underside. The only sounds in the room are the obscene wet noises of Richard’s mouth and Lee’s own harsh breathing.

Lee swallows thickly when Richard sucks on the head, his tongue swirling and dipping into the slit. One of Richard’s hands lets go of his hips and starts a torturously slow rhythm on his cock, pumping steadily until Lee has to screw his eyes shut and concentrate hard on not thrusting mindlessly into Richard’s mouth.

Then Richard goes down on him again and sucks hard, and Lee’s hips jerk up against his will. His eyes fly open, slightly panicked, but Richard just moans around him, loud and greedy, and takes him in even deeper.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lee gasps, thrusting in short hard bursts, desperately clinging to a tiny shred of self-control. He’s been thinking about this all goddamn day, Richard’s mouth and Thorin’s hands, Richard’s submission and Thorin’s defiance. 

Richard looks up and meets his eyes, his gaze unbearably hot, and Lee suddenly feels a surge of desire that’s as much Thranduil’s as his own: to see this would-be king bring him off; to have his come flood that proud mouth, to watch him swallow every last drop of it.

“Don’t stop,” he says, and Richard sucks all the harder, understanding what Lee wants. His other hand moves to Lee’s balls, rolling them lightly between long fingers, effectively allowing Lee to move his hips freely. But Lee resists the urge to fuck into Richard’s mouth, wanting to draw this out a little further. 

Richard’s hand moves lower, fingertips stroking lightly at the soft skin just behind his balls, and Lee’s hips jerk hard. He moans, drawn-out and loud. Richard’s answering moan around his cock has Lee’s vision starting to white out at the edges.

“Oh, fuck, _Richard_ ,” he says shakily, running his hands over Richard’s head and the nape of his neck. His control is slipping, hips moving on instinct, Richard’s mouth and hands working him with relentless skill. 

Richard abruptly tightens his grip, pumping hard and fast as he hollows his cheeks, and Lee cries out in surprise. The sudden onslaught has Lee throwing his head back, hitting the back of the throne with a dull thud, and his fingers scrabble at the back of Richard’s head as he thrusts desperately into that perfect mouth, almost all restraint gone.

“Fuck, yes, yes,” he gasps. His eyes are shut tight, the world narrowing to Richard’s mouth and Richard’s tongue and Richard’s lips. To Richard, really. Just Richard. 

Then Richard moans again and Lee feels the vibration spread through his whole body, an intense rippling wave, and he comes with a choked-off shout, pleasure shooting through him and coming even harder when he forces his eyes open and sees that Richard is watching him through Thorin’s hard blue eyes.

Richard keeps working him until he’s spent, then pulls off with a faint smirk. 

Lee decides he looks entirely too satisfied with himself. 

He lifts a foot and nudges it against Richard’s crotch. He’s still hard. Very hard.

Richard gasps at the contact, rubbing himself shamelessly against Lee’s foot for a moment, then blushing fiercely when he realises what he’s doing.

“I wouldn’t make you rut against my leg like a dog,” Lee says, but Richard looks at him suddenly, breathing hard, something flashing in his eyes. Lee files that little tidbit away for another day.

Instead, he gestures for Richard to stand. Lee spreads his legs wide and pulls Richard into his lap, their thighs pressed against each other and Richard a comfortable weight against his chest. He trails wet, biting kisses along the side of Richard’s neck as he snakes his arms around his waist.

Lee hand’s push under Thorin’s tunic, palms sliding over deliciously taut muscle and sweat-damp skin, one hand moving up to tease Richard’s nipples and the other trailing lower and lower until Richard is leaning back into Lee’s chest, hips jerking up in tiny sharp movements, desperate to be touched.

“Lee,” he breathes.

“Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

Lee smiles and captures Richard’s waiting mouth at the same time as he slides a hand into Richard’s pants. He licks past Richard’s lips and wraps his fingers around Richard’s cock, and is met with a moan the Lee can feel through his chest and against his tongue as much as he can hear it.

He pumps Richard with firm strokes, matching the movement of his hand with the thrust of his tongue into Richard’s mouth. Richard starts to tremble as Lee works his cock, and when Lee twists a nipple and runs a thumb over the head, spreading the pre-come, Richard breaks the kiss with a gasp, breathing hard against Lee’s shoulder.

“Do you want me to draw it out?” Lee asks against his hot skin, slowing his strokes and licking at his throat. Richard moans, hips jerking. 

Lee suddenly speeds up again. “Or do you want it hard and fast?”

“Oh god, _Lee_ ,” Richard groans, eyes squeezed shut. His hands grip the armrests of the throne, knuckles white, and he fucks hard into Lee’s fist, hips moving with less and less control. 

Lee’s fingers find a nipple again and he bites down on Richard’s earlobe.

“Answer me.”

“ _Hard_ ,” Richard bursts out, almost growling, and Lee’s grip tightens. “God,” he gasps, “yes, hard, fast, Lee, _Lee_ —”

He cuts off with a surprised gasp when Lee grants his request, one hand flying over his cock and the other tugging at a nipple. 

“I want to fuck you on this,” Lee whispers, lips dragging over the shell of Richard’s ear. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Bent over my throne and taking it hard.”

Richard can’t speak, just moans loudly, and Lee’s cock somehow twitches again.

“Come on,” he urges. “I want to see it. Want to see you come.” 

He licks a rough stripe up the back of Richard’s neck, knowing it’s a sensitive spot, and strokes harder, faster, not letting up. Richard’s head bows and Lee tugs him closer, his own hips moving helplessly against Richard’s.

“Fuck,” Richard gasps, when he feels Lee moving with him. “God, I want—I want—”

“Yes,” Lee promises. His sinks his teeth into Richard’s shoulder and Richard’s whole body suddenly tenses before he takes a hitching breath and comes with a whimper, gasping Lee’s name and shuddering all over, pushing hard into Lee’s fist. Lee strokes him through it, dropping kisses along his neck and jaw, and holds him close as he catches his breath.

It’s a while before either of them can speak. 

“Um,” Richard says, and Lee chuckles, pressing a smile into Richard’s skin.

“The costume department will kill me tomorrow,” Richard adds, looking down at the mess at the front of his pants. 

“Oh, I wouldn't worry,” Lee assures him. “From what Orlando’s been telling me about the days, I’d say they’re probably used to this sort of thing.”

Richard starts to laugh and Lee’s stomach does a weird flip at the sound of it. There’s nothing of Thorin in that sound, nothing at all. He tightens his arms around Richard’s waist and impulsively presses a kiss against his sweaty temple, because this—this slightly embarrassed laughter, the faint flush across his cheekbones and the familiar weight of his body—this is Richard, just Richard. 

And the smile that spreads over Richard’s face when he turns his head meets Lee’s gaze, the warmth and contentment in his eyes—well. That’s all for Lee. Just Lee.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hobbit Kinkmeme.


End file.
